Fugitive Bride. Пола Грейвс
was less blood than one might expect, to begin with. The victim had taken two bullets to the base of his skull—double tap, the big-city cops would call it. A sign of a professional hit.
But who the hell would target a groom on his wedding day?
“Vic’s name is Robert Mallory. The third.” The responding deputy flipped a page in his notepad. “Mallory Senior works in the Lexington DA’s office, and he’s already screaming for us to turn this over to the Kentucky State Police.”
“Any witnesses?”
“No, but the bride is missing. So’s her man of honor.”
Trask slanted a look at the deputy. “You’re kidding.”
“Nobody’s seen either of them since about an hour before the wedding.”
“Bride’s name?”
“Tara Bentley.”
Didn’t sound familiar. Neither did the groom’s name. “Have you talked to the bride’s parents?”
“She’s an orphan, it seems.” The deputy grimaced. “Her side of the aisle is a little sparse.”
Trask rubbed his forehead, where a headache was starting to form. Why didn’t he ever get a cut-and-dried case these days? “I want the groom’s parents kept apart so I can question them separately. And any of the wedding party who might have seen anything. Do we have an estimated time of death yet?”
“Last time anyone saw him was around three, about an hour before the ceremony was supposed to start. Last time anyone saw the bride was round the same time.”
Trask frowned. Missing bride, dead groom, professional-looking hit—nothing seemed to fit. “You said man of honor.”
The deputy flipped back a page or two in his notepad. “Owen Stiles. Apparently the bride’s best friend from childhood.”
Stiles. The name sounded familiar. “What do we know about Stiles?”
“Not much. His mother is here for the wedding. She’s the one who told us she couldn’t find him. By the way, according to the man of honor’s mother, their cars are still in the church parking lot.”
Trask looked up at the deputy’s words. “You’re telling me the bride and her best friend took a flyer and left their cars behind?”
“Looks like. We’ve already checked the tags and they’re registered to our missing persons.”
Well, now, Archer thought. That was a surprising twist. “Let’s get an APB out on both of them. Persons of interest in a murder for now. We need to check if either of them have another vehicle, too.”
“I’ll call it in.” The deputy finished jotting notes and headed out of the room.
Trask looked down at the dead man lying facedown on the floor. Poor bastard, he thought. All dressed up and nowhere to go.
* * *
“DO YOU, TARA, take Robert as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others...” The pastor’s intonation rang in Tara’s head, making it throb. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor as if her shoes were nailed to it. She tried to tug her feet from the shoes, but they wouldn’t budge.
Breathing became difficult behind the veil that had seemed to mold itself around her head and neck, tightening at her throat. She attempted to claw it away, but the more she pulled at the veil, the more it constricted her.
“Owen!” she cried, the sound muffled and puny. She knew he was here somewhere. Owen would never let anything bad happen to her.
“I’m here.” His voice was a warm rumble in her ear, but she couldn’t see him.
“Owen, please.”
Arms wrapped around her from behind. Owen’s arms, strong and bracing. The veil fell away and she could breathe again. Her feet pulled loose from the floor and she turned to face her rescuer.
Owen gazed at her, his face so familiar, so right, even in the shadows.
“You awake now?”
The shadows cleared, and she realized where she was. It was the old Boy Scouts camp cabin in the woods. Night had passed, and with it the rain. Misty sunlight was peeking through the trees outside and slanting into the cabin through the dusty windows.
And she was wrapped up tightly in Owen’s arms on the mattress they shared.
“Yes,” she answered.
“You were dreaming. Must have been a bad one.”
She forced a smile, the frightening remnants of her nightmare lingering. “Just a stress dream. You know, late for class.”
“You called out to me.”
She eased away from his embrace and sat up. “Probably wanted you to do my algebra homework for me.”
He sat up, too. The blanket spilled down to his waist, revealing his lean torso. She rarely saw him shirtless, and it came as a revelation. Owen might not be bulked up like a bodybuilder, but his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat and his chest well-toned. He’d talked often about Campbell Cove Security’s training facilities, which were apparently part of the company’s connected training academy, but she’d been so wrapped up in her wedding plans she hadn’t listened as closely as she should have.
“Did you hear it, too?” he asked in a half whisper, and she realized he’d been talking to her while she was ogling his body.
She lowered her voice to match his. “Hear what?”
“Voices. I think I’m hearing voices outside. Listen.”
Tara listened. He was right. The voices were faint, but they were there. “A woman and a man,” she whispered. “Can’t make out what they’re saying.”
“Maybe one of those kids did tell their parents about seeing us last night.” Owen rose, grabbing his shirt from where it lay on the floor nearby and slipping it on as he crossed to the cabin’s front window. Tara noticed that grime had smudged the snowy-white fabric.
“Can you see anyone?” she whispered.
He nodded. “They look normal.”
“By normal, I assume you mean nonhomicidal.”
He turned to flash her a quick grin. “Exactly.”
“Maybe we should go out and meet them. It’ll look less suspicious.”
“Good idea.” He glanced her way. “Wrap the blanket around your bottom half. It’ll be hard to explain half a wedding dress.”
Smart, she thought, and grabbed the blanket that had been covering them to wrap around her. She joined him at the door. “Ready?”
He took her hand. “Let’s not tell them what really happened. Too hard to explain. I’m just going to say we’re newlyweds whose car broke down in the storm.”
“Okay.” She twined her fingers with him and followed him onto the porch, surprising the couple approaching the cabin through the underbrush.
“Oh!” the woman exclaimed as they came to a quick halt. “I reckon y’all are real after all.”
“You must be the parents of one of the kids we scared last night,” Owen said with an engaging smile. “Sorry about that.”
The woman, a plump brunette with a friendly smile, waved off his apology. “Don’t you worry about that. Those young ’uns had no business bein’ out here in the middle of a rainstorm. But we figured we should at least come out here and make sure you weren’t in some kind of trouble.”
The man grimaced at the cabin. “Y’all had to sleep here last night?”